Material Things
by Ammanalien
Summary: When your world falls apart what can you depend on? Rodney 'thinks' he knows. HC angst with Sunday spoilers.
1. Chapter 1

Material Things

Part 1

Some people collect key-chains, and some collect stamps. Rodney McKay collected gadgets. In his room, upon almost every surface there were examples of Ancient whatsits and gizmos.

Yes, if anyone loved Ancient technology, it was Rodney McKay.

Most were long-defunct objects, always palm-sized, their purpose unknown and their power depleted. Some were as beautifully crafted as those Faberge eggs you see in museums. All inlaid coloured crystal and gold outlines. Breathtaking.

Truth be known, of course, most of them had no business being in his room – in his 'private' collection, as it were, but he jealously guarded them, felt they belonged with him – belonged _to_ him.

He would often gather them together, work through them one by one, marvel at their design and perfection, and then carefully set them back in their various places around the room. Sometimes, like today he would shine them with a soft cloth, turn them this way and that, catch them in the sunlight; breathe and polish, breathe and polish….

His mind drifted back to a time years before. There had been a death in the family. He and his parents and Jeannie had to drive up to Ottawa. He must have been about fifteen. They arrived to find Aunt Maud working with a cloth and a tub of beeswax, polishing the large solid pine dining table that had been her pride and joy. As she rubbed lovingly at the honey-coloured wood she seemed unaware of the big fat teardrops falling to its surface, she just gathered them into her cloth and rubbed them right on in. Rodney hadn't understood how her anguish over Uncle Bob was somehow bound up in that table.

His mother's explanation was characteristically baffling, "Aunt Maud doesn't know how she'll manage without Uncle Bob."

Rodney had simply looked vacant, mouth hanging open in that wonderful adolescent way. His mother was patient…. long-suffering, "She's just looking for some comfort," she said.

Was it healthy, Rodney wondered, to look for comfort in pine furniture? At the time he had been happy to dismiss the whole thing as just another mystifying 'female' thing, and had gone on to wonder if good old Bob had remembered Little Roddy in his will.

But now as he sat alone in his room, rag in hand, turning first one object over in his hands and then another; cleaning and polishing each piece with the care it deserved, he thought maybe he was beginning to understand Aunt Maud, and her beloved table.

Here were the things that could never be taken away, the permanent things, the _safe_ things.

Of _course_ they were comforting, especially now. Breathe and polish, breathe and polish (cough)…

Maud had thought she'd loved that table, she'd bragged about it enough – apparently it's hard to get really good pine nowadays and in such good condition..

When she was left alone, though, as the result of a tiny problem they called an embolism, try as she might, no amount of polishing filled the void. She wasn't just crying for Uncle Bob, she was crying because she knew that the small pleasures in life could no longer bring her any joy.

The door chimed. Rodney carefully set down the piece he was working on, rose stiffly and opened the door. It was Sheppard. _Oh, God,_ _not_ _now_.

"Hey," said Sheppard with a smile that was almost convincing.

"I'm busy," Rodney threw back, listlessly.

"Spring cleaning, McKay? You surprise me." John had craned his neck to see inside the room. Rodney cleared his throat noisily and moved them both out into the hallway.

"Now's not a good time." He really couldn't do this now, and he was about to say so when John continued, "I just want a minute of your time," he said evenly.

They stared at each other for a long moment, and then reluctantly Rodney turned his back and walked into the room, allowing the colonel to follow.

"Well," demanded Rodney, turning, "What is it?"

At first John gave him an odd, blank look, and then seemed to recover himself.

"Err… I – I was wondering, McKay – Rodney.." and he shifted from one foot to the other.

It was odd; Rodney thought Sheppard looked kind of uncomfortable… mentally squirming, wearing an expression of…. was that _distaste_?

John took a deep breath, " … wondering how you were doing…. about Carson, I mean."

There was a silence then, and they looked at each other. Rodney could feel the early afternoon sun warm on his back, could now and again hear the cries of sea birds through the open window. Well, that explained it. Sheppard was doing the 'feelings' thing and sucking at it, big time. So, the Colonel was worried about him, well, he was a little worried about himself. Carson's death had been a shock, but he'd found a way through. It had been surprisingly painless. Not thinking about it helped… not talking about it _really_ helped.

But Sheppard had not finished.

" … and I was wondering when you were going to deal with… _that_?" and John made a vague flapping motion with his hand close to the left side of his neck. Rodney knit his brows, sending a non-verbal 'what?' to Sheppard.

The colonel just opened his eyes wider and pointed.

Okay, Rodney thought; avoidance, I can do avoidance.

It really was a beautiful day, he thought, turning to face the sunshine. He had to close his eyes, it was so bright - but he opened them pretty quickly after it sent his balance all to hell. To his surprise, he saw now that Sheppard was at his side, also looking out at the sea, but even he had his eyes screwed up against the glare.

"We missed you in the infirmary," said Sheppard casually.

"I was there!" shot back an irritated McKay, and turned his face once more to the window, "I just didn't stay is all."

He had gone down to the infirmary with the others but found when he got there he just couldn't go in. He'd felt sick and had the overwhelming urge to run – which he did, although it was more of an accelerated stumble than a run.

He heard a scuffle from behind and looking back, he found to his horror that his guest was now leaning over the desk, rummaging through the group of objects Rodney had left there.

"Do you mind?" he snarled and went to slap John's hands away.

Quickly snatching back his hands, John just gave him a strange look and said, "Do you want to sit down?"

Rodney was just not getting this conversation… It was very hard to follow, confusing.

"If I wanted to sit, I'd sit. Can we please just do this some other time.." He knew he was whining, but he was getting weary of all the talking and the listening, his head was aching and his neck was stiff. He rolled his shoulders tiredly…

_ow!_

"McKay!"

Rodney felt himself moved rapidly to the bed and he was made to sit there, on the edge, panting as if he'd run a mile. Something was on his shoulder pressing down and preventing him from moving. He opened his eyes and saw the dusty black of standard issue shirt and pants. John had one hand on McKay's shoulder and the other at his own ear. _Tattle_ _tale_, thought McKay.

All around haziness ensued and Rodney, his ears buzzing, could only catch snippets of what was being said.

"No, I think it's stopped…. there's really no need and it will only freak …. can do this, trust me,…. back to you in a few minutes…."

Next thing he knew, something was being pushed painfully against his neck. He grayed out again for a moment and when he opened his eyes, John was crouched in front of him pressing what must have been a field dressing to the right side of his neck, his other hand providing support on the other side.

"You are a dumb-ass, McKay.." he said softly, slowly shaking his head, but Rodney thought maybe he saw the hint of a smile.

Looking down at himself, Rodney seemed to see for the first time, the dark, wet splash of blood on his jacket. Obviously the bleeding had not stopped.

"And you're a liar, Sheppard."

There was a lot of blood. Most of it was old, but some was fresh and bright; he thought it smelled of death.

_How deeply poetic, Rodney_, he thought to himself.

"Okay, well, yeah, but it's stopped now." John had let up slightly on the pressure, and was peering behind the gauze pad. "You know you really shouldn't get _hysterical_ about things..."

Rodney didn't have the strength for a proper retaliation, so he quietly seethed while Sheppard finished up. He watched (well, squinted down actually) as John taped the dressing in place. Then, as if by magic, a bottle of water appeared and it was thrust into his hands with the order, "Drink," and then as an after thought, "..please."

So he drank, and it did make him feel slightly better… feisty, even.

"I guess this is the part where you drag me down to the infirmary, kicking and screaming, hmm?"

"No, Rodney," and now John was looking right at him, seeming to gather his strength and determination, as if for battle, "This is the part where we talk."

oOo

TBC and thanks for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

Thankyou for your patience and for your kind and inspiring reviews. There's one more part after this and it's mostly finished, so it should be posted pretty quickly. If you have time, please review... it's very much appreciated.

Part 2

"Seriously, McKay, ever heard of kleptomania? Get some help, buddy," Sheppard chuckled, as he cast amused eyes over the collection of shiny trinkets strewn across the desk. McKay watched as the Colonel selected one after another, seemingly at random, appraising each one with what Rodney thought was a bored expression, and after turning each one over to inspect it's underside - an action he considered baffling in it's futility - discarded it in favour of another.

"What exactly are you expecting to find? This isn't the antiques roadshow," scoffed McKay. He was now sitting up on his bed, leaning against the wall, right where Sheppard had installed him. His colour was better and an almost empty water bottle lay at his side. He was currently chewing on a power bar. John was lounging in the desk chair.

"I won't even pretend I know what you're talking about..." Sheppard drawled, and finally turned his attention away from the table.

"So how long did you think you could walk around with a chunk out of your neck?"

oOo

They'd been scouting a planet, nothing special about that. Of course the people who lived there didn't like strangers and made their feelings plain by chasing him and his team back to the gate, and even hurling primitive but very effective explosives at them.

The rest of his team had dodged them quite effectively but Rodney had, unfortunately zigged when he should have zagged and got the worst of it. It was like someone had slapped him sideways with a brick, more disturbing was hearing a wet squelch as something had connected with his neck. Then after he had picked himself up, he felt a warm trickle that could only have been blood, making its way down to his shoulder. However, he'd recovered quickly, which was just as well because there was the shining gate, rippling off in the near distance. They had all come through and headed wearily to the infirmary, Rodney now being helped by a concerned Teyla. She'd thrust a dressing on the wound, grabbed his hand and clamped it hard on top. "Hold this," she ordered. Sheppard was some way in front of him, supporting a limping Ronon.

Once they had reached the infirmary, Teyla told him to go sit down and, muttering something about bandages, she scampered off, presumably in search of some. But Rodney had stopped in the doorway, held back by something. Something felt wrong. He told himself it had nothing to do with the nice new doctor now in charge of the place. He liked her, but ...

_Just go in,_ he said to himself; c_an't,_ he answered himself back.

The infirmary looked busy. Obviously they hadn't been the only ones to find trouble today. Marines were standing around, some quite crookedly, others being helped to beds. McKay thought he should ask what had happened, but then decided he really didn't want to know. Surprisingly, his neck didn't hurt much and upon inspection, it appeared that at least he was no longer dripping blood everywhere. Wrinkling his nose in disgust, he deposited the heavy, blood-soaked dressing in the garbage and split.

oOo

That was a couple of hours ago...

"How's Ronon?"

"Fine. Sprained ankle."

Rodney almost exploded with delight.

"Sprained ankle? What a girl. You were almost carrying him! ..and me... I had a proper wound - blood and everything... and I managed fine on my own, just wait till I see him...!"

"Yeah, well, you were... I dunno, _being_ _psychotic_, so it doesn't count as bravery."

Sheppard was looking at him intently, arms folded across his chest.

"Maybe we should go down to the infirmary. They'll be wondering why I haven't called back."

"Who'll be wondering?"

"Well, everyone, I guess, and...you know, Doctor Whats-her-name?"

"Mmm, yes, her..." Rodney's mouth made an unconscious twist.

"I take it that she had something to do with your running off..."

Rodney said nothing, just looked down at his hands as if they were suddenly very interesting. His face darkened, and he mumbled softly, "Do you really think I'm psychotic?"

"No, just a little damaged maybe," the Colonel said with a sigh. He rose from his chair, stretched long arms above his head and flung them down to his sides again. He walked slowly across to the window. The day was moving into late afternoon and the sun no longer had its earlier brightness. He stood motionless, casting a gray shadow in the watery sunlight.

"Look, McKay, I dont know much about these things... hell, I'm probably the last person you should talk to. But we... I mean, I... have been worried.. about you - Rodney." John continued haltingly, still with his back to the scientist.

He sighed again, "I'm a soldier. I've seen stuff... I've seen people... friends... messed up by war and violence, they've gone places that they never came back from, drowning themselves in guilt and could-have-beens. I think sometimes that I could have helped them if I'd tried, pulled them back from the edge."

John continued to gaze out at the sea, as if seeing another time and place. Then he seemed to shake himself and turned around.

"I guess what I'm trying to say is, if you need someone who'll listen... then I'm here. And I won't know what to say and I will say the wrong things and I can't say, "I know what you mean", because I don't - know anything, I mean, about...this ... this... _grief_ thing. God, I even hate saying the word. But, however hopeless I am, however screwed up, I know I'm over the worst, and what worries me more than anything, McKay, is that you're not, you're not even close."

The silence was an abrupt and uncomfortable one for Rodney.

John was breathing harder after his outburst and looking at him with a strange intensity.

Rodney was aware of his own heart racing. He was about to tell Sheppard that he didn't know what the man was talking about. He wasn't sure why, because really he knew exactly what John was talking about.

Couldn't he just go on pretending? Brush it off? It was working, wasn't it? "I'm fine", seemed like an excellent phrase to go with. God knows, they'd both been guilty of hiding behind those words on several occasions. It would be so easy; John would leave, probably taking Rodney with him to see the lovely new doc and everything would go back to how it was. But nothing was the same... not anymore.

Okay, cut the crap McKay; you're lost, bereft, floundering in your own little bathtub of sadness. Grab that sink chain...

In what seemed like a moment, he found himself standing on wobbly legs.

He put a shaking hand to his chest, and in a small voice said, "Why is there nothing here?"

The silence stretched once more. Even the birds had fallen silent; the sun had disappeared and the room felt suddenly cold and drab.

John stepped closer, and in a quiet voice, answered, "Because he's gone; because we carry on without him;"

Rodney felt like his throat was closing up, like his thudding heart would explode through his chest.

"... because he was your friend", John said simply.

To his horror, Rodney found his eyes beginning to prickle, his vision blurring and he blinked furiously, refusing to give in.

"You're allowed to miss him, you know."

Rodney couldn't bear to see the expression of sympathy on John's face, so he dropped his chin to his chest and closed tired, burning eyes. He was standing with his hands jammed into his arm pits, feeling cold, desolate and alone. He opened his eyes and dimly saw Sheppard cross the room, disappearing from sight, only to reappear a moment later holding a blanket. It was dumped on his shoulders and McKay clutched it, bringing his hands together beneath his chin.

"Thanks."

"Tell me."

All fight had now gone out of Rodney. He was barely holding it together. There was a good chance that very soon he was going to make a fool of himself.

So, slowly, he began to talk.

oOo

TBC and thankyou for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

Part 3

"When I arrived in Antarctica, he wasn't the first person I met, but he was the first person I talked to... well, it was the other way round really. I remember him walking in and scanning the room with this huge grin on his face, like he knew everyone there. When he saw me he just stalked right on over and started chatting, like we were old friends. Nobody else was saying much of anything, all too high and mighty, all too busy watching their own backs - me included, I guess. But Carson, he wouldn't stop talking. I remember thinking, "What does he want from me?" I was used to people who were climbers; on their way up, they would use anyone to get what they wanted. Carson didn't want anything."

Rodney was staring blankly into space, absently rubbing at a piece of tape stuck to his neck...it itched. Suddenly, he smiled.

"I remember his mother used to send him chocolate. Piles of the stuff. He gave me something once...he called it a 'teacake'.. chocolate marshmallowy thing wrapped in foil..." Rodney laughed gently, it seemed like only yesterday.

"He knew I liked them... he'd save them for me. He would bring them down to the lab and if I wasn't there he'd leave them by the coffee machine. I'd get back and there they were... I don't think I ever thanked him."

He took a deep breath.

"He liked me, I don't know why, but he did. We'd be sniping at each other most of the time, but it never meant anything, you know? I'd never had a friend like that...A good friend. It was difficult at first, but... I liked it... I suppose I got used to it, and now..."

Rodney's eyes drifted over to the desk.

"These things..." and he snatched one from the desk top, "These stupid, stupid, meaningless things..." breathing hard, he found he didn't have the words to continue, to explain what he meant. Why couldn't he get back to how it was before? He'd never needed anyone then, what was so different now? Unable to contain his anger, he threw the pretty ruby-red disc down on the table top, where it bounced spectacularly, causing all the objects to jump and clatter back.

Rodney ran a shaky hand through his hair.

He looked over at John again, surprised to see that the colonel was still standing, listening, still expressionless. Rodney suddenly blurted out, "It's like waiting for something to happen... to me. Something's going to happen to me."

Still Sheppard just stood. McKay felt the words spill from him in a desperate gabble, interspersed with halting breaths and painful swallows:

"You.. you know those prisoners on death row? You know, they... they don't want to die...obviously, right?... But deep down ... part of them must want it over with... you know? And.. and they're just like... "Oh, God, please let it end.." They're so very, very grateful for every reprieve, but really they're only putting off the inevitable."

"What's inevitable, Rodney?" John's voice was very soft;

Rodney's was almost a squeak.

"That I'm going to fall apart. I can't fall apart."

He felt Sheppard's hands land hard on his shoulders, startling him. He felt himself trembling and he knew John could feel it too.

"Yes," he said firmly, "you can."

"Let it go, Rodney. Let it go _now._" John's hands gripped tighter and Rodney was shocked to see the brightness in Sheppard's eyes.

Then, quieter, but with a firm determination, John said, "Do it."

oOo

And Rodney McKay did let go, he let it all go; and when his legs just suddenly refused to hold him up and he flopped down onto the bed, sobbing like a school-girl (his words), it was Colonel John Sheppard who sat resolutely - and, yes, a little awkwardly - by his friend's side, now and again patting McKay's hand or nodding in an understanding fashion, taking deep, thoughtful breaths and letting out long and comforting sighs.

Rodney didn't hear the quiet words spoken into a radio; he didn't know how he came to be lying down, he did feel the welcome weight of another warm blanket come to settle over him. He didn't hear his door opening and footsteps moving about here and there. He may have felt the hands that gently lifted him, but he was unconcerned by them, drifting in a kind of sleepy daze, with the _thump_ _thump_ of the dull ache now in his neck, just background noise. He did feel the solid, warm hand that clasped his; he felt it from the moment he was laid on the stretcher, until the tiny sting of a needle caused him to slide into the fluffy, pink world of heavy-duty painkillers.

Because sometimes all we need is someone to be there. Someone who knows what it's like to stand by the coffin of a friend, someone who also lies awake at night thinking of how things might have been.

When death comes a-knocking you won't be losing your beautiful solid pine dining table or even your depleted power core modulator, you'll be losing a piece of yourself, a piece you'll never see again. Rodney knew this; but he also knew that having it, was worth the risk of losing it.

Carson had been his friend.

What more could he say?

What more could he have asked for?

Epilogue

"It was raining that day in Scotland, you know."

Rodney looked away from the chess board for a moment to glance out at the rain. It had been a warm and humid day, and the cloudburst was a welcome relief. There was a damp but slightly metallic smell coming from the hard decks of the city. The drapes at the window blew gently. Across from him, John sat hunched over, the fingers of his left hand cupping his chin and rubbing thoughtfully. He gave no sign that he had heard Rodney's words.

On the day Rodney knocked at Jean Beckett's door, the rain had been lashing down. Not really down, more like sideways. He remembered with a smile Carson telling him once, as they had stood in the rain at some Athosian ceremony, "This? This is no' rain, Rodney... When it starts comin' at you horizontally... that's rain. Many's the time I ran home from school battling wind and rain... It was like runnin' uphill!"

Carson's mother looked so much like her son, that the shock almost took the breath from Rodney. He couldn't remember how he told her the news... that her son was dead. But she'd said, "Thankyou, Rodney," which had made him feel so unaccountably wretched. Of all the things she could have said... she had thanked him.

Rodney blinked and watched the gray of the sky slowly giving way to blue. It had been almost a week since his injury, a week ago that he'd answered his door to find John Sheppard. His wound was healing well after being properly cleaned and stitched.

"I want to ask you something...why did you come... that day?"

"You don't know?"

He shook his head slowly...

Sheppard seemed to consider for a moment, then said, "What would Carson have done.. if he'd been here?"

The pilot and the scientist looked at each other, and then Rodney sighed and looked down.

"Thanks," he said, his mouth turning up into a small smile. When he looked back at John, he found him with his attention back on the board, hands on his knees, eyes fixed.

Rodney thought for a moment, then wordlessly, he got up and went across to his nightstand. Turning back to Sheppard, he held out his hand, palm up.

"Here, I know you liked it... saw you looking at it. It's a favorite of mine too..."

In his hand was a tiny purple and gold pyramid. It was finely etched in black with a feathery design, it's control buttons looked like emeralds; it was exquisite.

John took it from Rodney's hand carefully, smiling broadly.

"Rodney, I don't know what to say.. I'm... touched."

"Well," McKay said roughly and he loudly cleared his throat,"Just.. you know, look after it, okay? it's ... special"

Sheppard gazed at it, as if in love, held it up to the light and... _spat_ delicately upon it and proceeded to shine it against his shirt. Rodney's eyes widened and he made a kind of choking sound... or was it a whimper?

"And .." he squeaked, "... and if you get ...well, like you don't really lov - _like _it anymore, then don't.. you know, get rid of it or anything... 'cos I have plenty of room... I'd be able to - probably - you know, have it back." He was nodding emphatically, but he had to fold his arms to prevent his hands from snatching the gift back.

_Come on, McKay, it's only an object, a silly little thing..._

It was okay...

Everything was okay...

After all, it was only on loan... to a good friend.

oOo

The End

oOo

Well, that's it... Hope you liked it. Thanks again for all your friendly, encouraging comments. Cheers!


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